


Underneath the sky

by lucyfer412



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: F/F, How Do I Tag, Lesbian AU, My First Work in This Fandom, One Shot, useless fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:07:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26756263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucyfer412/pseuds/lucyfer412
Summary: Violet drags Katya out to the Middle-Of-Nowhere, Wisconsin, where she is bewitched by the sky, the stars, the silence and the girl with the shrieking laugh.
Relationships: Trixie Mattel/Katya Zamolodchikova
Comments: 3
Kudos: 30





	Underneath the sky

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written fanfiction since high school. Oh God. Please forgive this piece of work, i don't even know what it is or what it wants to be. I was inspired by Miranda Lambert's song Oklahoma Sky and I wrote something and it's longer than I thought it would be and not exactly what I first had in mind but here it is. I truly hope you enjoy it.

"Do you know how you can tell which stars are actually stars and which ones are planets?"

Katya rolls her eyes.

She keeps silent as her eyes look up towards the sky through her bleached bangs. It's dark, the pitch black that can only be achieved when you're far enough away from civilisation that people wouldn't hear you get murdered. They're in the kind of place where people wouldn't think to look for a body either. Katya can't remember the last house they saw on the way here. She should be more worried, seeing how she's in actual serial killer territory, but the night is so warm and calm that she can't bring herself to care.

Plus, she's brought one of her knives in case she actually runs into a serial killer.

Smoke is curling around her from her cigarette, but she can still see the brilliant dots contrasting against the clear sky. It's way past the middle of the night so there's about as many of them as grains of sand on the beach in Cape Cod and, fruitlessly and for no reason at all, Katya tries to count them.

"Do you?" the person next to her asks again, but Katya keeps her lips sealed tightly. She doesn't even know what her name is, she was the one who had driven them here in a rusty truck, rattling on the off-road, and then built the fire that's keeping them warm against the chill of September. She seems young, especially with her dark hair in two braids on each side of her face, free of any make up. She is looking at Katya and her eyes have an voidness to them, as if they can’t be reached by any emotion. It sort of creeps Katya out. If she had to name one of the people gathered around the fire who was most likely to be a serial killer, she would say it was this girl. She wondered where her knife was.

She can feel the haunting stare on her, but she keeps her eyes pointed upwards. She doesn't particularly feel like engaging in conversation. All she wants to do is to sit in her chair, with her blanket draped around her bony knees and look up at the sky and chain smoke.

"I'm cold," Violet whines from somewhere across the crackling fire. Katya almost laughs. She had expected this, but she had to give it to Violet – it’s taken far longer than she would have thought. Maybe it was the fact that it had been her idea to come out here or the fact that she didn't want to hear Katya say ‘I told you so’, in her own particular brand of annoying - switching to Russian when she wants to make an especially poignant point. There were very few things that Violet didn't know about herself and the fact that she isn’t usually the great outdoors type isn’t something that she needed to hear from her roommate back in the city and she most certainly doesn't need to hear it spoken now, in the middle of the night, in the middle of a field. Violet knows that she'd rather be in a hotel room, which they hadn't bothered to book, or in a French restaurant that serves ridiculously miniature portions for ridiculously high prices. Violet knows that Katya knows this too and she is a little ticked off that she doesn't seem to mind their surroundings at all.

She is sitting across from Violet looking up at the stars with an expression of pure bliss on her face, her body completely relaxed. Violet can't remember if she's ever seen her like this. She knows that Katya doesn't enjoy high pressure situations, or mild pressure situations, or any-kind-of-pressure situations and she often wonders if it's actually PTSD leftover from her competing days.

"That's because you don't have a single drop of fat on those bones," Katya quips, taking a drag out of her cigarette and keeping the smoke between her lungs. She thinks to herself that it might also have something to do with Violet's outfit choice (skimpy but stylish), but she knows better than to comment on Vi's fashions. Instead, she asks about the reason why they find themselves beneath the starlit sky - it may have been Violet's idea, but she didn't get it all by herself. "So, this new girlfriend, when is she getting here?"

Violet groans in response. If she had any kind of answer, she would give it, but she'd lost reception on her cell on the way here and it was her only means of communicating with Pearl. Now she is sat here wondering if she made the right choice in agreeing to this and if Pearl is actually ever going to show up. She feels sorry for herself as she tries to gather her flimsy blanket closer around her body. She would also feel bad for dragging Katya all the way to Wisconsin, if only she wouldn't look like she is enjoying herself oh, so damn much. Which ticks Violet off. She would focus on herself, as she usually does, but that would mean that she'd drown in her own self pity. So she focuses on Katya as she turns to the contemporary Pocanhontas sitting by her side, talking her ear off. She is so caught up in trying to overhear above the chirping of the crickets, that she almost misses the twin lights and low purr of a huge Jeep pulling up next to the ratty truck that has brought them here.

"You haven't answered my question," the girl says to Katya after her short interaction with Violet, when Katya finds herself counting stars again.

"They flicker," she mouths to no one in particular. The girl can't hear her, but can surely see her crimson lips moving, because she draws closer to the chair that Katya is grateful she's been inspired enough to bring along. Despite the warm air of the night, the ground is probably be freezing by this time of night.

"I'm sorry, say that again?" the girl prompts and a smirk spreads across Katya's face.

"Stars flicker," she says, more clearly this time. "Planets don't," she continues, never for a moment tearing her glance away from the stars. "Something about producing their own light, I don't know, I'm not a scientist," she says. She wants to look at the stars, not talk about them. She keeps her eyes trained on the sky, but even though she isn't looking, her ears don't miss the first sound of civilisation that she's heard in hours: the steady rumble of a car engine, mixing in with the crickets and the wind. She tenses a bit.

The girl next to her smiles. She gets even closer to Katya. "I love the stars, so I learned basically everything there is to know about them. That's the science, but, personally, I like the indigenous legend more," she says in a voice that's loud enough to carry through the night, but that feels like a whisper. "The Native American tribe that lives nearby believes that every star is the guiding light of an Ojibwe. The ones who flicker represent the living, like the beating of hearts. Basically everyone has a star that guides them," she explains, the people around her seeming entranced by her story. Katya wonders how much of this is actually true.

And then a piercing shriek breaks through the ensuing silence, shattering the peace of the night. Katya's heart skips a beat as she sits alert looking around. Who's getting murdered and where is the knife she brought?

"No, they don't," an unfamiliar voice says and from the amusement in it, Katya deduces that the infernal shriek was actually laughter. "You're so full of shit, Emma," the newcomer says.

Contemporary Pocahontas finally has a name.

And while the new voice doesn't have a name, she most certainly has a body that Katya can’t help but admire: all curves and roundness, clad in jeans and gingham, a full face caked in enough make up to be visible through the darkness and an impossible amount of honey blonde hair, balancing at a perilous height on top of her head.

"Says who?" Emma huffs and for the first time during the night, there's some real emotion in her eyes. She is pissed that whoever this girl is has called her out on her bullshit.

The blonde rolls her eyes and walks over. "The only actual Native American on a ten mile radius," she says, popping a hip and resting her hand on it. Sure, she doesn't really fit the mould - or at the very least the Pocahontas shaped mould that Katya associates with Native Americans -, but then again Katya herself doesn't really fit the Soviet-former-gymnast mould either.

"Now, move before you creep out Pearl's guests," she instructs the girl who huffs again and gets up to go sit on the other side of the flames. Compared to the blonde, she's tiny. Katya is sure that if she were to stand, she’d be at least a head shorter than this gorgeous Barbie herself. She plops down on the vacated spot, as ungracefully as a toddler, limbs flying through the air, precariously balancing on her behind. When she finally settles down, she extends a hand.

"Trixie," she introduces herself. "Sorry if I startled you, but that one always manages to piss me off," she explains. "Misleading beautiful women using the Ojibwe is her favourite past time," Trixie winks and Katya finds it hard to grasp at the thoughts swirling around her mind to put them in an order, any order. She doesn't know if it's Trixie's appearance or the fact that she'd basically, indirectly been called beautiful, but she can't think straight.

After what feels like a far too long silence, she regains control of her limbs and extends her hand, careful not to burn Trixie with her cigarette.

"Yekaterina Petrovna Zamolodchikova," she says, stumbling over her name fast enough that it all becomes one big word. She doesn't even know why she went for the full thing. "But your dad just calls me Katya," she continues, going for her signature joke. When your name is too long and twisted even for Russian, you have to have a joke.

Trixie looks at her blankly, her face stony.

"I don't have a father," she says, voice even, eyes unblinking.

Katya doesn't know what to do. Never before has she gotten this reaction to this joke and she's suddenly scared that she's offended Trixie. She tries to think about what to do, how to crawl out of this hole that she dug for herself. She can feel her pulse skyrocket as she just stares on ahead, still unsure of how to proceed.

"Oh, put her out of her misery already," someone exclaims from across the fire pit with a lisp strong enough that it makes misery sound like ‘mithery’.

And that's when the piercing shriek shatters the night again. Trixie is laughing. And then, for some ungodly reason, Katya is too, expelling cigarette smoke from her mouth, wheezing from deep within her lungs and stomping her feet against the ground. When they both calm down, Trixie is looking at her, dark eyes warm.

"I really don't have a father, but can I call you Katya?" she asks and Katya nods eagerly.

"Please do," she chips. "My God given name is far too much to handle even for me sometimes. I'm Violet's roommate," she says, recalling that Trixie had mentioned Pearl.

"Pearl and I used to work together in Chicago, before she was swept away to model in New York," she explains. "Me, her and Kim were all make up artists for MAC."

"And what do you do now?" Katya asks.

"I'm a make up artist for MAC," Trixie says, sighing. She extends her hand out when someone whistles on her other side. She is passed a bottle of Jack that she takes a big swig from, then extends it towards Katya, who just shakes her head and passes it along.

"I don't drink," she says as she lights a new cigarette with the bud of her last.

"It helps with the cold," Trixie shrugs and Katya can't help but notice that she's only wearing a shirt and ripped jeans.

"Oh, mama, I was raised in the middle of the Russian tundra," Katya says, smirking, "this is like the middle of summer for me," she winks, even though she is completely covered up and can still feel the chill going through the air.

"Now, who's the one who's full of shit?" Violet interjects. "You're from Moscow, bitch, you grew up in an apartment with a heating system," she laughs - the alcohol seems to be taking effect. There’s no other reason for Violet to be in such a great mood in the middle of nowhere.

Trixie's laugh pierces the night again. "Well, I grew up here and I'm telling you it helps. With the cold. With the absence of a father. With the traumatic childhood. Multipurpose," she says and her voice has become even again. Katya wonders for a moment if she's joking or not, but she laughs anyways, smoke escaping her mouth.

"That is disgusting," Trixie says, fluttering her hands in front of her face to clear away the smoke. "I never understood why people do it." She's looking towards Katya for an explanation and against her better judgement, Katya takes another drag of her cigarette.

"Takes the edge off," Katya puffs smoke out into the sky, blurring her view of the stars. She can still remember the moment when she's picked up the habit - it was years ago, back when she was still competing. It was in her later years, when her emotional stability had started to give a little bit from all of the beatings it took - neither her trainer, nor herself were happy that she hadn't gotten the chance to do more major competitions and the last chances were looming in the distance. It had felt like the beginning of the end and it has really taken a toll on Katya's psyche. She had been sitting outside, in the biting cold, right before one of her ‘last chance’ competitions, trembling in part because of the cold and in part because she was on the verge of complete panic. Ginger had stumbled upon her and seeing the state she was in, she'd had her take a few drags of her cigarette. The effect had been almost instant and Katya had been hooked on them ever since. "Especially when the pressure gets to be too much," Katya confesses, feeling nostalgic about those days. But she had to agree that it was nasty. She wasn't proud of herself for smoking.

"And what exactly do you do that's so much pressure?" Trixie asks, narrowing her eyes, ready to vilely mock her answer.

"Now, I mostly train others, but I'll be damned if the World Championship of Artistic Gymnastics didn't use to be a pain in my ass," Katya smirks seeing Trixie's expression switch into amazement. She is pretty proud of her career and she doesn't bother to hide it from people.

The bottle of Jack makes another round before it's empty and discarded somewhere behind the circle of people gathered around the fire. Conversation hadn't stalled between them at all, not even when Trixie was busy with the bottle of Jack. Katya had filled those moments with little anecdotes from her crazy youth and Trixie almost dies choking on whiskey when Katya starts talking in her thickest Russian accent, which makes Katya laugh so hard she almost chokes on the smoke of her own cigarette. The atmosphere is so light, conversation flowing all around the circle and the stars seem to twinkle furiously when Katya looks up to admire them again. She feels like she's in Heaven. Granted, it's a very dark piece of Heaven, but she'd always hoped that her slice of Heaven would be like that.

"I'm bored," Violet whines from her spot in Pearl's arms. She looks around, waiting for suggestions. The thing when you look like Violet is that people scramble to fulfill your every wish and command. By now, she has come to expect people to entertain her at all times. Katya can tell that it's even bothering her to be asking.

"How 'bout some music?" Trixie asks and, of course, she is met with a collective excited nod, only contrasted by Katya's loud groan. She turns to look at her. "What?"

"Nothing. Do your thing," Katya says as Trixie gets up and walks to her car, with about as much grace as she sat down with. Katya can't help but follow Trixie's frame as it moves to her truck, appreciatively memorizing the contours of Trixie's body. Still, even through her daze, she hopes that Trixie isn't about to pull a tortured Midwestern musician act - pull out a guitar and play some nice, melancholic country music that she's written in the dark alone in her apartment. Much to her dismay, that is exactly what Trixie does.

It's not that Katya has anything against guitars or the pretty, pretty girls playing them, it's just that whenever someone pulls out a guitar in the middle of a party that has involved a substantial amount of alcohol, the atmosphere goes from pleasant to a band of cats in heat, wailing off-key alongside a tune that they insist is like playing their heartstrings. Katya doesn't stand for that.

But she keeps her red lips sealed because she wants to at least hear Trixie play before she starts judging. She realizes that she isn't even surprised that Trixie plays the guitar, she gives off that vibe and anyway, everybody plays the guitar nowadays. What Katya doesn't expect is the clearly custom made pink and glittery guitar that Trixie pulls out of her trunk. As Katya tries to calm down her mind and keeps herself from cackling, Trixie sits back down on her spot on the ground next to Katya and immediately starts strumming chords. Everybody is silenced as soon as the sound of the guitar pierces the night air and then the only voice is Trixie's as she sings a song about her appearance and how deceiving it can be that she looks like a backwoods Barbie.

Her voice is soothing and Katya gets lost in the music for a moment, looking back up towards the sky and the twinkling stars. And then, the world is enveloped in silence again and her mind comes back from its wandering. Trixie has turned towards her and is searching for her eyes.

Katya mmm's for dramatic effect. "Did you write it yourself, Barbie?" she asks teasingly and Trixie's eyes widen, her hand comes to rest on top of her heart and her lips form a small 'o' shape.

"Oh my God, I do not believe you!" Trixie shouts, sounding more amused than offended. "How did you not recognise this absolute gem by country music's brightest burning star, Dolly Parton?"

Katya shrugs. "I'm not much for music," she says and Trixie is about to express just how offended she actually is when Violet cuts in.

"That is a load of crap and you know it! I’ve listened to enough Russian music to get me through my next life too!"

Katya laughs. She tells many people that she doesn't like music, even though her collection of vintage Russian pop music stands in the corner of her room, biding its time, waiting to out her as a music person. "Fine, fine," she ammends. "I'm not a fan of Dolly, but... Do you know anything by LOBODA?" she asks Trixie.

"WHO?" the other blonde asks, the volume of her voice too high for the quiet night.

"Alla Pugacheva?" Katya tries again. "Lolita? Polina Gagarina?"

"Who are these people?" Trixie laughs and it's Katya's turn to be offended.

"Absolute Russian legends and goddesses, you uncultured bumpkin," she aims at the American and somehow they're both laughing.

Katya is entranced by Trixie: not only by her looks, which are to die for, but also by how easily conversation flows between them. She never finds it this easy to communicate with people. She is usually a bumbling mess of misplaced humour, her brain a swirl of anxiety, her whole body jittery. She is comforted by the thought that she's found someone who gets her jokes and who's apparently able to follow her train of thought. If she’s completely honest with herself, sometimes, she can't follow it herself.

"Any requests?" Trixie asks her again and Katya narrows her eyes. The names of her favourite songs are swirling through her mind, but picking any one of them would be futile - she is certain that Trixie won't be able to play Russian music.

"Any Trixie composition," she says and a slight blush blooms on Trixie's cheeks as she starts strumming her guitar. It's soft and mellow and brown eyes are fixed on Katya's blue eyes as she sings, timidly at first, but then she gains confidence as Katya's red lips stretch out into a bright smile, her ridiculous teeth shining through the darkness.

She can't believe she never did anything about that girl.

She also can't believe that she's let Violet convince her to come to Wisconsin again, to spend another night underneath the sky, freezing her butt off and poisoning her lungs.

"What are you thinking about?" Violet asks from the passenger seat of Katya's beat up car, looking at her phone's screen, which currently shows them as a blue dot against a dark background, heading towards pair of coordinates through the menacing landscape. She had tried to stare out the window, but no amount of effort could make her see anything in the pitch darkness. "Or should I say, who are you thinking about?"

Katya rolls her eyes, but she can't deny that Violet caught her. It's probably the dumb smile on her lips or the excitement that's she's felt the whole day through, that she's tried to blame on anything other than the fact that she might see Trixie again. She tries to focus on the sound coming out of the radio that Violet likes to call 'glorified noise' when something tears through the darkness stretching in front of her windshield: a small, flickering, yellow dot.

She inhales deeply, hitting her dashboard a tad too hard to shut off the radio and rolling down all of her windows. She listens to the night: crickets and quiet and the rumble of her car's engine. The sound of peace. And then she can hear it and for the first time she is excited at the prospect of a guitar: strings being strummed, chords vibrating through the night air and a soft voice singing a melancholic song.

They're not that close to the fire, but Katya pulls to a stop and silences the engine, frozen in the night air. She only just listens as Trixie's voice fills her ears. She had forgotten its sound.

_I haven't been drinking_

_I haven't been thinking_

_Of lonely "if only"s and then..._

_And then I see you..._

_And I know you all over again_

_And then I see you..._

_And I love you all over again_

She doesn't know when she got out of the car, doesn't know if she's pulled her keys out of the ignition or if she's put the car in park, can't tell if she's actually opened her door or jumped out the window, she can't think of anything but Trixie's voice and her song. She can't even tell what her body is doing until she feels arms around her and soft curls tickling her shoulders and soft lips upon her. 

She is suddenly aware of herself. She is kissing Trixie and Trixie is kissing her and it's like a missing piece was found. And here, underneath the stars, she feels so alive. Finally.

**Author's Note:**

> also this had not been proof-read so excuse any mistakes. come find me on tumblr at  @thevampirearcher  I promise I'm nice.


End file.
